A cacophony of snores filled Greum's ears as he rose from his coffin deep down in the Galmair underground. The sound of his brethren all around, the fresh scent of blood and sewage in the air - Normally this would have been the perfect start to a brand new day and yet…
He hadn't been able to shake it lately. This habit of reminiscing, his admittedly limited brain working overtime as he kept questioning his life choices. Were things really better now that he had a clan?
He walked across the muddy floor, towering over his brothers and sisters who were scattered about the place sleeping on each their furs, making his way towards the exit of the cave. Part of him, he realised, missed the quiet solitude of when this cave was his and his alone. Still, for the most part he was happy to finally have a clan of orcs to call his own.
It had always been his deepest desire, to have a clan, to belong. A deeply rooted wish no doubt stemming from when he got kicked out of his own clan as a young orc, abandoned and betrayed. Finally having one, it felt good - even if there were issues.
Ascending the stairs leading to the kitchen he looked around, spotting a couple of dwarves arguing over a trade of armour in one corner of the room. In the past he might have approached them, to get a new set of armour. Dwarves seemed more trustworthy than halflings, after all. Now however, he had his clan - there was Moa, so he would be patient and wait for her to learn. He shook his head, digging into his ear with a pinkie finger while inhaling deeply of the warm kitchen air. This scent, it was a little unpleasant, not as good as the smell of sewage below. It smelled too much of sweet pies and other foods for the weaklings, although…
He approached a nearby smoking rack, grinning in a show of his yellowed sharp teeth as he confirmed what his nose had just told him, casually grabbing a piece of half-finished ham to chew on, in front of a startled halflings widened eyes, and - making sure none of his brethren were around to see him do so - left behind some silver coins as payment for the halfling that had sought cover and was trembling being an oven nearby. He had never been one to steal from or mistreat the weak ones after all, no matter how much they feared an orc of his stature. No, he saw himself as their protector, defending them against those that would do them harm. Like the undead of Mas, or that filthy liar Bernie.
Passing through the kitchen, chewing noisily on that piece of ham and scratching his butt while looking around, he found himself once again reminiscing about it all. How he had even tried to make them his substitute clan, for a while.
Meeting the Ox human, a chieftain that really cared for the people of his clan. A leader Greum would have been fine following, had he been around more and had things gone differently.
Little fox, who was like a whelp to him, someone to teach and care for - even if admittedly his teachings were a little misguided at times. Not that Greum himself was aware of it; thinking it was perfectly natural to try to teach an elf how to bathe in the sewer canals.
Then there was the shaman Sarangerel, who showed affection in the strangest ways, always chucking fireballs at him left and right whenever he approached. One day, he promised himself, he would make an army of whelps with her and fill Galmair with orcs for generations to come.
These three, and so many others.
He even made his Sewer Papers to entertain them, this "clan" of his, when he noticed they seemed to have so little to talk about - going around, back and forth, just working all day without a word. It seemed to work, for some time. Even if the words they would speak of him weren't all that pleasant, at least they were talking now.
So when had it stopped, his interactions with these people? He tried to think, but it only ended up giving him a headache, instead deciding to step up into the sparring room. For a moment he could hear the clinking of metal against metal, the grunts, roars and snarls of combatants - though it quickly faded, the training ground before him currently empty and cold in the late hours of the night. Here he had spent countless hours as well. Training different people. Though it wasn't entirely selfless - Even if he did not learn much, he did love to smash, to work out his muscles.
Most recently he had trained his new clan brethren. He had truly been giving his everything to them lately, even if they were too aggressive and bloodthirsty for an old and relatively peaceful orc like him. Training them, providing them with materials, guidance, anything he could think of - even going so far as to invite them into his own home, his own cave, when he first met them. All to have a clan of his own, to belong.
Though there were others before, others he would train with, like that Nala human - Was she a liar too, the way she had said Bernie wanted to make amends, to make good on the deal and apologize? He didn't know.
The ten gold deal that Bernie had offered that suddenly became fifteen, then fifty. The outrageous demands that insulted his honour as an orc. His warnings that went ignored, as the halfling stood his ground, potion in one hand while pointing a dagger at him with the other. Greum had given him the chance to flee, but instead he chose to fight. Only to get beaten into the ground, the halflings armour proving little resistance against Greum's mace, while that young chief of his called for blood - and then something else that Greum could not remember. Even a peaceful orc like him had limits and times when he would see red.
Then there was that ridiculous bounty. For a moment, when the halfling chose to stand his ground and fight, Greum had thought he might have some honour after all - despite his use of potions. Yet, when in face of defeat he decided to hire bounty hunters? He knew then that there was no hope left for this halfling.
He let out a sad, disappointed grunt as he left the training room, headed for the wall and its cold sobering air. Be it Nala, whether she was a liar or truly believed her words back then, or everyone else: they all seemed to have turned their backs on him. No one stood up to defend him against the crooked merchants false claims, or the attempts to take Greum's head. Not little fox, not the Ox human, not his new clan, no one. No, instead they just carried on with their lives as usual. At least, from Greum's perspective that was - he had no idea what was happening in the shadows. To him, they had abandoned him when for once he needed them.
They all did, in the end. Still, he never did. He always remained no matter how many of them abandoned or turned their back on him. In the end, he didn't care if they called him names or if that bounty hunter thought him a coward for walking away from a dishonourable fight. Not as long as those important to him, his clan, were safe.
The air felt particularly cold and unwelcoming as it brushed across his face this night, his small yellow eyes taking in the sight of the road ahead. Torches and campfires burning bright below, crackling and sending a pleasant scent of smoke up into the air. Mixing in with the soothing earthly fragrance of recently tilled fields, where farmers had just returned from hours before, and the clucking of angry chickens that filled the woods - no doubt in response to yet another egg thief in the deep of the night, though Greum did not care about that. This was where he belonged, he felt it in his very being. Old clan or the new, it didn't matter. He would defend them all, stand guard as their protector, one of many up on these walls watching long into the night.
Behind yellow eyes
Moderator: Gamemasters